Confession
by comptine
Summary: Arthur knows something is wrong the moment Alfred walks into his office. There is something off about him. In his confident smile. In his steely eyes and in the tone in his voice There is something wrong, but Alfred was never one for telling secrets.USUK


Arthur knows something is wrong the moment Alfred walks into his office.

His is smiling, but it a possessed and unnatural thing, unlike the annoying brilliance it normally shines with, but now glows with malice and a quiet superiority that is only earned from the destruction of another nation. Arthur only knows this smile because he has only seen it on the faces of those as old as him, as worn and as wise from the mistakes of war. Never on one so young, so inexperienced, so bright.

The suit he wearing is not ruffled and off-coloured to the greys and blacks that flood the streets of cities but dark as the foggy night that hangs outside England's window, white pinstripes running up it in harsh lines. His bomber jacket is nowhere to be seen.

It is his eyes that really make Arthur put down his book and actually sit up a little straighter in his seat. The sky blue they had been in his younger days gives way to a steely and unnatural shade of the colour. A careful balance of the dark silver of innovation, the blue of his freedom and the subtlety of violet that represents everything he fears, fights and embraces.

"England." Alfred says quietly, nodding his head and Arthur finds himself standing, something he has never done -not for his colony at least. Only once America takes his seat, folding one leg over the other, hands clasped over his knee and glasses flashing slightly, does Arthur find himself again and sits down.

His own posture does not mirror Alfred's. "America," He says, "To what do I owe the great pleasure? Aren't you off fighting Ivan up north? Or at least, pretending to fight?" The comment is snide, derived from months of living in abject terror the world being gone before sunrise. Arthur does not believe that Ivan will kill him but his people sure as hell believe that tomorrow will never come.

The smile flickers, showing the snarling beast of fear underneath for a single flash. "I am fighting Braginski." Alfred says, voice even, controlled and too unlike the tone it was a mere few years passed, "But… is it too much to stop by my father's house and just talk?"

"Alfred," He can't use his other name, because America is not the Alfred that Arthur holds so close to his heart, "You haven't called me father since your days an my colony. What do you want?"

England watches as America entire body seems to tense. "I just want to talk." He says, fingers turning white from how tightly they are woven around each other. The green gaze can't help but notice that Alfred's fingernails are chewed down. "See, England is placed perfectly so that if missiles need to be lau-"

The young American talks of the nuclear weapons as if he is trying to offload an old broken car. Arthur does not appreciate being talked to as if he hasn't read a newspaper, as if he doesn't know what is happening the world, as if he is the charge and America the elder. "No." He says, voice cutting across Alfred's well-rehearsed speech, "I do not want those foul thing on my land unless they are mine. If that is all you came for Alfred, I suggest you leave. I have paperwork I need to finish for tomorrow."

His laugh biting and unamused, Alfred's blue eyes fix on Arthur. "What kind of paperwork is more important than the safety of the world, England?"

"I'm sending relief packages to Gilbert and organizing a meeting with Ludwig about moving a few Germans to London." Arthur responds calmly, "Someone has to deal with the problems you've made on this side besides just dropping candies over the Iron Curtain."

Arthur thinks he sees the blue eyes flash purple for a moment. "I am helping," Alfred says, his voice mocking the coolness in England's tone, "I'm stopping this war. Not prolonging and just ignoring it."

His hands slam onto the table and Arthur is on his feet. It scares him that Alfred's calm gaze doesn't flinch in the slightest at the violent action or the slap of skin on wood that echoes dully in the small office. "Alfred. Do I look like I want this war to continue? At all? England has always been an island fortress and now we have entered an age, a type of warfare that I cannot combat, cannot compete against and cannot ignore. This isn't like the German's attacking Europe where I can simply cross the Channel with my forces and help. If anyone is hit, that's it Alfred. No more France, no more Canada, no more Russia, no more _Japan_ and," he stares at his charge, eyes narrowing harshly at the smile that still resides so perfectly on America's face, "No more you."

"America will never die." Alfred says. England can see his hands tighten around his knee as the weak spot at the American's irritation that his empire's weak spot has been discovered, by his father, an old and broken empire. The new should never be outsmarted by the past. "I'm not like you England. I won't let my people fall, not to Russia."

Arthur can only snort at the impudence. He turns on his heel, pushing his chair into his desk as he strides to his window, staring out at London. Nearby, Big Ben tolls, signalling that witching hour has begun and the low rumble of the bell makes Arthur close his eyes.

"You are as arrogant as ever." He says quietly, "You shouldn't be so confident Alfred. Russia is not a weak nation, there is a reason he challenged you. He thinks he can take you on and I'm inclined to believe him. His are not empty threats."

"I am not arrogant, I'm just right."

Arthur's fingers touch the cool glass of his window, the image of London skewed and distorted from the drops of rain. The moon is as bright as the face of the clock tower. "You have said that before Alfred." He said, breath fogging the pane slightly, "You can't be the hero for every fight."

There is silence from the younger nation and although Arthur does his best to keep his gaze to the window, as the minutes begin to blend, he can't help but look around. There Alfred sits, head in his hands, trembling, quiet noises that are better left silent issuing from his form.

"Alfred?" Arthur asks quietly.

"Don't you get it Arthur!? I don't want to be the hero anymore! I don't want everyone watching me, scrutinizing like I'm a fucking animal or something! Why is it my problem!? Why do I have to save everyone!? When did America become the last hope? My people are terrified and I can't fucking blame them. Russia is terrifying and _isn't losing_ or backing down! Ivan could fucking kill me just by hitting a button-"

Alfred snaps his fingers.

"-And end of all this! Everyone dies, no fucking happy ending and who gets blamed? Me. Arthur… fuck do you get it or am I just talking bullshit?"

Arthur does not notice the twelfth toll echo through his city and the quietness that follows. America has somehow made it to his feet during his rage. The suit is now too big for his panting body, the blue in his eyes once again the pure blue that Arthur remembers and his smile is gone, replaced by the natural expression of fear.

Leaning heavily on Arthur's desk with one hand, Alfred 's other reaches up, gently taking his glasses off, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand as he laughs brokenly. "You know what the worst part is?" Arthur's fingers close into a fist against the glass as Alfred looks up him, eyes unconcealed by Texas, "I'm fucking terrified of him and I can't fucking get him out of my head… he's always there, laughing and those… those goddamned eyes of his… they're so…"

But Alfred can't tell Arthur how they are and as England stares at him, his throat getting thick. He lets his hand fall from the window, turning to America, clasping his fingers behind his back. "Alfred, I told you no to the missiles. There is nothing else we need to talk about." He said, doing his best not to imagine Russia on top of America. Russia taking America. Ivan with _his_ Alfred.

The big blue eyes stare at him. "A-Arthur…" Putting his glasses back on, Alfred lets out a long sigh, looking even smaller than before in his dark clothes. "The one time I need you, you send me away." Arthur watches as the blue turns the steely silver and lilac again and feels his stomach curl in on itself.

"Alfred," He says but the young nation has already turned, walking towards the door, "When I needed you, you sent _me_ away." The words Arthur has been hiding away from years have finally spilt out.

Snorting, Alfred turned back to Arthur. "You didn't need me." He said, striding back towards Arthur, somehow filling his suit again in the few quick and strong paces. He stares down at England and his fists are clenched at his sides.

Arthur meets Alfred halfway, wishing desperately that he were taller. "Of course I did." He confesses quietly, knowing that if he ever tells this story, he will blame it on the bourbon he never drank.

Watching as the eyes fill with tears, Arthur can only smile sadly as Alfred begins to cry. It is an odd thing. To see such a great and powerful nation cry. Arthur knows that it is the sign of wisdom and his chest fills with a sore pride as his charge starts sobbing.

"I don't want you." Alfred says, closing his eyes as tears stream down his cheeks.

Arthur hugs him. "I know."

All Arthur can feel is how small America is.

* * *

**Author's Note**

For allyoucaneater because she's a real sweetheart and was not a dick when I told her flat out I don't like this ship and really helped me grow to accept that it isn't all _that_ bad. So, props to her 3 But don't worry, FrUK is still my go-to ship.


End file.
